The Allied Detective Agency
by One.Eye.Opened
Summary: AU- The streets of London are riddled with mysteries and hidden crimes, all of which are the source of living for the British detective, Arthur Kirkland. With a new case that will plunge him into the deepest most perplexing mystery of his life, will he remain unscathed as he pilots the underworld of England and through it, the world.
1. Chapter I: The Coattails of a Case

The Allied Detective Agency –

Well what do a British detective, an American soldier, a French noble, a Chinese merchant and a Russian mafia heir have in common?

Honestly, not much.

If anything.

But here is their story.

Chapter One

[Arthur Kirkland was not your average Londoner. The first thing people would've noticed was his extremely fuzzy, caterpillar-like eyebrows. But besides that he was an observant and very stereotypical British detective and one of the very best. ]

He flipped the yellow-tinged newspaper, the black printed text flooding the pages in perfect lines. Reaching out for his earl grey tea; he took a small sip before sighing in the morning comfort. For once the sky wasn't in downpour, it wasn't even cloudy. In fact it was a pale, pleasant blue, and Arthur Kirkland was determined to enjoy the rare weather. His eyes ran through the words, smirking slightly at the news of a recent murder. A body had been uncovered in the Thames, and it wasn't the first and probably not the last. Placing down the now empty cup Arthur proceeded to roll up the newspaper slipping it into his coat pocket. Making his way out of the quiet café he was welcomed to the bustling city of London, with well – off politicians being trailed by sneaky pick-pockets. Newspaper boys bellowed out headlines, Arthur amusingly found that news of bodies found in the Thames always seemed to pop up.

Arthur Kirkland walked quickly and swiftly on his feet, but was suddenly knocked off when he felt a body of a young man or woman ram into himself, quickly pick themself up and hurriedly scuttle away. Turning around to apologise as the gentleman he was, he found himself standing alone looking away at the shuffling crowds of London.

Shrugging off the incident, he continued on his way. The people in London were constantly pressured with the demands of their work, especially with the industry currently booming. But with all the competition there was bound to be a few…mishaps, and that was the source of Arthur's job.

Finally reaching his destination, he stared at the scene before him. Officers were crowding the riverbanks. As his eyes reached the centre of the commotion, his mouth twitched slightly. So there was more than one body. All the other cases had only been one body, killed in exactly the same way. But _why_? Arthur's mid reeled as he glanced at the bodies lined up next to each other.

"Good morning Mr Kirkland."

"Morning, officer."

"Afraid I can let you further, Arthur. Civilians aren't allowed."

"Are Not. And I am quite sure that the head officer will let me on this case. It appears that you still have yet to find any evidence."

"Following the papers I see, Mr Kirkland. But there are rumours you know."

"There are always rumours, but enlighten me."

"Well apparently there's a saying that Chinese merchants have something to do with this-."

Arthur thought back to the person who he had bumped into, he had caught a glimpse of the man's wear, an oriental dress. That would explain the ponytail.

"-but it also might be sabotage, with the times and all. Some of the people have been identified as politicians and particular people of…, well, the high class society. Where do your opinions stand Mr Kirkland?"

"Ah but that is the beauty of a good mystery, I'll see what I can do before your head officer finally admits that he needs my help."

"With all the bodies, it might not be that long, sir."

"Hopefull-"

"OI! LET ME THROUGH!"

Arthur's head snapped sharply to the source of the commotion and was greeted with the sight of an American, judging by the accent, trying to push through the officers shouting that he needed to see the bodies.

"HEY YOU! HELP ME HERE!" The American tried calling to Arthur, waving his hands manically. Arthur knitted his eyebrows sceptically, staring at the ridiculous American.

"I think you should help him Arthur, he might get hurt. And we don't want a commotion, or any more reporters."

"Fine."

Sighing, Arthur walked to the complaining American.

"Hey, you actually came! So are you going to help me here?"

"You do know you can't get through."

"But I have to!"

"Why exactly?"

"It's a secret mission, but I'm here to solve this mystery because I'm the hero! Here. I even have a letter from my boss."

Arthur promptly face palmed. "Why did you not show that in the first place?"

The American shrugged.

"Well you are certainly not going to be let in after all the ruckus you have caused."

"Awww…" he paused. "So can I stay at your place?"

"What?"

"Can I stay at your place? I don't really have anywhere to go." The American grinned sheepishly.

"You ask a_ random_ person if you can stay at _their_ place."

"Well, yeah."

"No." Arthur pivoted swiftly on the ball of his foot and began to walk away from the American.

"Hey. Wait."

Shutting off the shouts, Arthur continued to walk back to his apartment, fingering the package in his pocket. He decided to take the long way, to lose the struggling American and his loud antics. Taking a sharp corner he finally lost the shouts. Shifting his eyes, he inserted the key. Taking a breath, he opened the door rapidly and rushed in, shoving the door to a close but it stopped came to a sudden halt. A foot belonging to a very irritable man indeed was snuffed between the door and its frame.

"Wow, you have a pretty good place."

Arthur presently felt like he wanted to bash his head against the wall, before grudgingly opening the door and letting the American in to his abode. He observed the American with a suspicious eye; he had messily combed dark blond hair and youthful blue eyes which shone with pride.

"So…?"

"Oh. Alfred, Alfred F. Jones."

"So Alfred, I assume you are American?"

"Yeah."

"What are you doing in England?"

"Boss' order. You know… secret stuff."

Arthur raised his eyebrows sceptically. "So what do you do?" Asked Alfred.

"I am a detective."

"Oh, so _that's_ why you were at the crime scene."

As much as he hated having a stranger at his house, Arthur had to be a gentleman. "Would you like some tea?"

"Nah."

Arthur made some anyway despite the American's swift refusal. "So what do you do?"

"Well, I'm a soldier but I'm working on special cases now."

"Mmhmm. There is a guest room; you can stay there for now. But I'll be busy for the majority of the time, so don't expect me to always be here."

"Sure."

Taking out the parcel that was slipped into his pocket, he carefully untied the string and the thin brown paper that covered the slender, rectangular package. Unveiling an envelope and another bulky package he feet it, assuming it would be some kind of picture. Looks like someone wanted his help. He broke the dragon seal which held the envelope together and found in neat cursive handwriting, a letter addressed to him.

_Hello Mr Kirkland, we inquire that you know of the rumours surrounding the recent murders and the situation this places the China Trading Industry. We would like to ask of your services in aiding the restoration of our reputation. If not possible we suggest you to find a reasonable witness. If you do take interest in helping us, meet at the address that will arrive._

_China Trading Industry_

Arthur sort of gulped; he was pretty sure he read the letter right but re-read it just in case.

"Is this how you do your job?"

"Huh-!"

Arthur lurched around; Alfred was looking at him and the letter. "No, not usually."

"Oh, ok then."

"So where's the address?"

Suddenly they heard a knock on the door. "Ok, that's creepy." Stated Alfred, breaking the silence that followed, as Arthur slowly picked up the piece of the paper left on the doorstep with no trace of any human being.

"The London Docks, the sixty-fifth pier, eleven pm sharp." Arthur stared at the last two words. "Or else."

"I guess we have no choice then."

"No choice for what?"

"Well we have to go."

"We?"

America swung an arm around Arthur, "Yeah, there's no better person than the hero to help you with these creepy people!"

"First of all, get your hand off me. I do not need any help and you are not coming with me."

"But you so need my protection."

"Unfortunately not. Do you not have anything to do at the moment?"

"Nope."

Sighing Arthur slipped off his coat, "I'm going to have a nap." He felt that he was going to need it. Clutching the coat he took the package and a thick book lying on the coffee table. Walking up the stairs, he entered his cramped bedroom. Most of Arthur's house was neat, clean and tidy, devastatingly; his own bedroom did not fit into that particular category. Books were stacked up on top of each other in ways that defied gravity and the distance between the bookshelves and the ceiling were filled with yellow, crumbled papers. The floor was swamped in balls of scrunched paper and there were random objects placed all around the room. In a dejected corner was a beautifully polished violin, standing out from the rest of the horrendous room. Throwing his coat on the hook on the back of the door, Arthur slumped onto the bed, his hand over his face, fingers massaging his temples slowly as he groaned quietly.

"WOW! I'd never expect someone like _you_ to have a room like _this_."

"Eh?"

"You play violin?"

"Yes."

Alfred treaded cautiously around the room, tip-toeing among the decaying papers, picking up letters and looking at pictures curiously. "You're Arthur Kirkland?"

Arthur wasn't sure but was it possible that he had heard a slight amount of awe in the voice. "Yes." Removing his hand from his face he glanced at the intruder in his room. "What's it to you?"

"Your name travels far; even in America you're considered an amazing detective."

"They're probably talking about another Arthur Kirkland."

"No I'm sure that it's you, you're the Arthur Kirkland who solved the Mockingbird case and the Railway Murder."

"Ah… those cases."

"Yeah you're famous."

"No, I am a nuisance of the government and if you want to come tonight you might as well get some sleep. I have a feeling it's going to be a long night."

"Than-" But Arthur had already gone to sleep.

_Screech!_ Arthur shot out of his nap, the screeching bringing him abruptly back to reality. _Screech! Screech!_ The horrible noises continued, tormenting him and his sensitive ear drums. Arthur rushed out of his nap; taking a look at his rusting alarm clock, he rubbed his head in annoyance. The screeching sounds made his ears ring with pain. His eyes scanned the room crazily; his eyes froze at a dejected corner where his violin should've quietly sat. _No! No! Not the Violin!_ He scurried out of his room, nearly tripping down the stairs as he dashed to save his probably destroyed violin. He kicked the guest room door with anxiety, it was a miracle it stayed on its hinges with the rage that had built up in the short amount of time it took Arthur to reach the doomed person. Wrenching his violin bow from the zealous American he smacked him on the head, hard.

"Ow!"

"Serves you right! Don't just go playing on someone else property, you don't even know how to play violin."

"But it looked so cool and people make it look so easy so…" Arthur felt like smashing the violin on his head but that would hurt his precious violin.

"Things are never as easy as they look idiot."

"But-"

"You touch this violin again and I will kick you out and hurt you so much you'll run back to America with your tail between your legs shouting for your mother." Arthur's eyes had turned murderous and in the dimly lit shadows Alfred was sure he would follow out on his threat. "Okay…"

Placing the violin down on the table, Arthur inspected the bow obsessively, testing if there were any broken strings. It was hard to find a good instrument and most of them were horrendously expensive. He didn't want an American ruining his violin before he had even stayed a day. Finally deeming the instrument undamaged, he glared at Alfred, boring holes into his skull. Scowling, he switched his glare to the clock. Nearly choking on his spit he threw the violin bow back on the couch, pacing in a circle rapidly, muttering to himself. Wrenching his coat off the door, Arthur snatched the passive American before half- dragging him, half pulling the coat on before grabbing his hat, and slamming the door on his way out.

"Wait? Where are we going?" yelped Alfred,

"The Docks!"

"Ahh, yeah…sorry I forgot to remind you." He grinned sheepishly as he was dragged by Arthur.

Weaving through alleyways, Arthur had no time to take transport unless they were to ride a horse straight to the docks; he mentally scolded himself for such a ridiculous idea. Taking a sharp turn, Alfred had decided to stop wondering where they were a long time ago. Then without a second to think, He was abruptly hauled into a corner, nearly yelping at the shock, expecting a brick wall to be lain ahead. With all the twists and turns all his brain registered were dark blurs in the night.

"Hey Artie, Do you know where you're going?" Alfred managed to get out in the whirlwind, nearly slipping on a dampened step.

Too intent on getting the quickest possible route, Arthur completely missed the nickname, "_Of course_ I know where I'm going. What gave you the idea that I didn't?"

_You look like you have no idea where you're going…_But Alfred didn't dare voice his thoughts, afraid that the Brit would leave him alone in, as of the limited blurs he could see, the more underground side of London. The soles of their shoes tapped quickly on the damp bricks roads, the narrow, watching buildings glinting in the pearly dim moonlight. Half – dead figures groaned in the rat molested crevices, soaked in puddles of decaying water.

Turning his head from side to side, Alfred watched the alleys slowly grow wider, until they lead to an opening where large, grey rectangular warehouses loomed above them, their shadows dancing with the clouds that occasionally covered the silver of the moon. Over the corner of a crumbling warehouse, Alfred saw a copper glint of metal. Observing the glint as the moon shone its light once again, Alfred's eyes widened. It was a large cylinder, a cylinder of shining metal, a funnel. The vent for a giant steam boat. In his awe, he hadn't realised that Arthur had stopped dragging him and sensing the silence, was nowhere to be found.

"Arthur…? Hey Arthur…..? It's not funny ok. That's enough. Arthur….?"

The silence echoed, only the depressed drips of water and the creaks of stressed buildings and ships could be heard.

"Arthur…...?"

His footsteps screamed in the silence, a single drop of sweat sneaked down the side of his face.

"What?"

"AHHHHHHHH!"

Arthur raised a single fuzzy eyebrow. "You're scared of the dark?"

"No…just things in the dark… certain _undead_ things." Murmured the American,

"You're afraid of ghosts." Arthur's tone was cynical, a smirk twitching at his lips, emerging on his face when a certain seabird decided to release a gut – wrenching squawk.

"AHH! WHAT IS WITH ENGLAND?"

Arthur rolled his eyes looking down to find the American latching on to his arm, letting out a small chuckle.

"Don't worry, there aren't any ghosts…" Alfred let out a sigh of relief, "at the moment."

Alfred froze.

"Sixty-three, sixty-four, sixty…five." Arthur glanced at the offending warehouse, "I guess there's no going back."

"Don't worry; the hero is here to protect you!"

"How useful, a hero who is afraid of ghosts."

"Artie!" winged Alfred,

"My name is Arthur."

Walking around the warehouse for any signs of the Chinese Trading Industry, the Brit reached in his pocket, taking out a polished pipe, lighting it and taking a breath. Pausing in his draught, he spotted a figure leaning casually on the walls; the shadows preventing the Englishman seeing more than a faint outline. _Click._ A pocket watch snapped shut, "Eleven p.m. sharp, congratulations Mr Kirkland. Surprisingly you are not late; you seem to know your way around London."

"A few corners here and there."

"Shall we continue inside, I'd think you prefer not to discuss things out in the cold."

"Indee-"

"Wait, Wait, wait a minute!"

Arthur groaned as the American walked speedily towards them.

"First of all, who's this and second where are you going without you're hero? Aaannndd don't leave me behind!"

Another sudden urge of head bashing overcame the Brit. Arthur looked desperately at the man.

"I'm sorry. Some people just don't leave you alone." Arthur tried sympathetically, "Don't listen to a word he says."

"It's ok. Please both of you follow me this way."

Leading them through the warehouse Arthur finally got a good look at the man. His features told of his Asian heritage, that much was expected. However, he was different to the person who had bumped him in the street. He had dark, almost black eyes and short black hair; he was short, shorter than Arthur. He didn't look Chinese either, more Japanese.

"Excuse me, but you don't appear to be Chinese?"

"Ah, I am not Chinese but I work in the same precinct."

"Then what are you? You seem to look pretty Chinese to me."

Arthur mentally face-palmed, could this person not read the situation.

"I am Japanese."

"Ah I see now."

Noting that they were now descending a long flight of stairs, Arthur began to have second thoughts. Probably no one could hear them this far underground.

Finally they reached a door which stood out from the rest of the basement; on it were red scrolls and paintings of gold dragons but what were most eye-catching to the Brit were the elegant but rushed Chinese characters which ran the length of the door. What it said, he had absolutely no idea.

Politely asking Arthur and Alfred to enter through the door, the Japanese man waited patiently. Alfred turned around to speak to him, "Aren't you coming?"

"It isn't my business."

Shrugging off the refusal, Alfred followed Arthur in to the room, and he stood there. Shell – shocked.

Despite still being in London, Alfred felt that he had just been transported to China; it was an explosion of red. Red silk curtains hung from the ceiling, detailed ink paintings pock-marked the walls, lacquered, hard bottomed chairs and low wooden tables, seemed randomly placed around the room.

"Wow."

Unable to say anything against the American's comment, Arthur stayed silent.

"I doubt you haven't seen anything like it before, since you British are just _so_ welcoming of other cultures aru."

Shooting around, Arthur laid eyes on the speaker.

Long raven black hair tied in a low ponytail; he had his arms crossed in front of him, the sleeves of a blue silk top covering his hands. Bored caramel-brown eyes casually observed the two visitors.

"It was you! You're the person who planted the messages into my coat."

"Yes."

"So who are you?" demanded Alfred.

"This is Wang Yao; by the way, Yao's his first name not Wang. The Chinese order of names is different so don't insult him."

"My thanks for relieving me of explaining it to this American aru."

"You know I'm American? How?"

"It's obvious aru."

"I'm one of the people who operate the Chinese Trading Industry, but no one important aru."

"He is an important person, someone I wouldn't expect to be in the underground business." Arthur directed,

Raising an eyebrow, Yao moved around them, seating himself at a table, "Detective Arthur Kirkland, one of the best British private detectives in the region. You obviously know why I have bothered to contact you, if it was an ordinary case it wouldn't be in the news, but things have turned out differently aru." Yao's eyes glanced sideways, his mind lost for a minute.

"What's different than the other cases?"

"I will tell you once you agree to help us aru."

"Us?" blurted out Alfred,

Yao's eyes looked wistfully at the American, "There are higher forces than me aru. In England I am only a merchant nothing more, even now the situation is being controlled by more powerful people aru."

"Is it?"

"It is aru."

"Fine, I will help. It's not a usual occurrence that this sort of case appears." Smiling, Yao threw a file into the hands of the Englishman.

Catching the rashly wrapped file, he analysed the bundled pictures and smudged handwriting, his mouth twitched into a cunning smirk.

"You really need my help, don't you?"

Yao narrowed his eyes, before letting out a strained smile, "It was…more serious than we first thought aru." His eyes fighting a battle of wills with the Englishman.

"OK! Guys can you stop speaking in, like, codes and stuff because I can't understand a thing!"

At the sudden outburst both Arthur and Yao abruptly turned their heads towards Alfred and raised a single eyebrow simultaneously saying, "You don't need to know!" Flashing his hands up quickly, he backed away from the glares Arthur and Yao were sending him.

"The only thing I have a problem is that you caused this problem in the first place yet you still expect me to help you?"

"You have no choice aru."

"I could just rat you out now." The Londoner smirked, "You won't be able to get out of this one."

"You'd be surprised aru."

"Tch, you only do things if you've got a way out."

"I'm not the only one aru. Tell him, I know you will eventually aru."

"Huh? Tell me what?" Asked the bewildered American, he hadn't expected to know anything after listening to the first five sentences of the conversation between Arthur and Yao, preferring to watch the two beat each other with venomous glares.

"The reason why Mr Wang is asking for our help and how the problem started in the first place."

"Hmmm."

"You do know how there were several murders conducted in the same way but there was a five day time difference in first and second murders."

"Yeah, I guess. But why does that even matter?"

"The murders after the second person were all found exactly three days after."

"Normally there wouldn't be a connection aru."

"Ok I get it, so what?"

"The first murder was an assassination directed by the Chinese Trading Industry."

"WHAT! But that means…but…you should be arrested!"

Yao's mouth twitched in a quick smile as Alfred made his way towards him. "Do you really expect all companies to have clean records aru?"

"Unfortunately yes, it is common for companies to hire…professionals…to get rid of…let's say…obstacles."

"You sound like you have experienced this situation aru."

"I have, undoubtedly, encountered the sort."

"Why am I, the hero, with two people who don't seem to have a problem with this?"

Ignoring the pointed complaint Arthur continued, "Except all the other murders weren't, even though the way they were murdered was the same, the killer is different. _Someone_ is framing the industry, for what reasons…who knows."

"But what we _do _know is that they have something against the company, I won't deny that we have many enemies but equally as many friends. If we get dragged down, the economy and the world trading system would be in an uproar aru."

"The Chinese Trading Industry is famous in the underworld for dealing with the dirty work of other companies…among other things, for various sums of money but in the surface it is also a vital point in the trading with Asia. We don't want to disrupt the balance between the countries, which would definitely end in chaos."

"It would be a pain to enquire the government aru."

"So, _someone_ recommended my services and now I have to solve this case. Yao. I don't understand why you couldn't have asked any of the other companies or…_them_…"

"It is unwise to show weaknesses to the surface world, especially to those people aru. So I will admit that the criminal is probably someone in the company, someone who is familiar with the killing methods used aru. That will be a start at least aru."

"Is it you?"

"No aru."

"How do we know!" demanded Alfred suspiciously eyeing the chinese man.

"If I were to kill someone, there wouldn't be any evidence aru." Yao answered chillingly, his face hidden in the wandering shows. For reasons unknown to themselves, Alfred and Arthur gulped at the sharp, suddenly chilling tone, it was as if the temperature in the room had dropped a few degrees.

"Ok aru! Since all the matter have been dealt with, allow me to escort you back out, you don't mind if we go back out in different directions do you aru?" Shocked at the sudden change in temperament, the two westerners could only nod as Yao motioned for a hidden door and led them up another flight of stairs to a moon-lit sky, the stars blinking oblivious to the events below them, ever burning their own light.

Arthur recognised the place instantaneously, making a mental note to remember the hidden rooms in the warehouse. Looking back at the Chinese man, he turned to make a scathing comment but was left with air, only a shadow passing the light of the moon.

"So where do we start?" Alfred strutted his way out.

"My place. We need some food first, do you fancy some scones? I cook them myself."

Chapter Fin


	2. Chapter II: Predetermined Discoveries

**Disclaimer: **These characters do not belong to me

Please read & review~  
Danke to my editor~

* * *

One thing that Alfred learned in the morning was that he'd never let Arthur cook. Never…ever again.

Sure he went against his better knowledge when he smelt the burnt …_food _in the air and decided to do the…unthinkable. When he saw the Englishman hold a singular plate of burnt (was it possible to even call it food in hindsight?), no _scorched _(as an understatement) scones (_scones?_), _why_ had he thought it would be ok. _Why _had he even dared to take a bite out of the lethal, black, rock-hard poison known as food to Arthur Kirkland? As the American lay in the guest room bed groaning in pain, with his stomach feeling as if it were about to explode, he could only regret in agony.

"Iggy…I-I…I think I can see the light." He murmured from his foetal position.

"Don't be ridiculous. You're fine," scowled Arthur, hurling a scone towards the shrivelling American.

"No…!" Alfred flinched at the approaching scone, "The hero can't die like this!"

"You're not going to die you git."

"Are you sure?" he pleaded groaning again in pain.

"First of all, my cooking is not that bad_._ And second of all, if people really died from my, _perfectly edible_cooking I would be a murderer."

"So other people had to suffer! Wait! Are you a murderer? Are you a British psycho who has previously killed people from planted food poisonings and goes from country to country acting as a detective to avoid suspicion as you continue to murder the innocent?" Alfred's eyes widened into the size of saucers as he rapidly described each crime.

"What has me being British got to do with my cooking?"

"Everything!"

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed as he glared at the conspiring American.

"Fine." He sighed, turning around, "You got me."

Alfred froze, "Wait…What?!"

"I am a murderer, unfortunately an unexpected event left my trail in the previous countries and I am now hiding in Britain, waiting for my previous crimes to slowly wade out before I continue to kill while conspiring with the China Trading Company in their murders to gain leverage in the economy as they help to hide me. Wang Yao was once an old colleague of mine. Once I'm able to return to my planned murders, I will give up this pathetic identity as a detective and go on my merry way. The reason of course is because of the classic excuse for revenge and lust. To redeem the tarnished reputation of my family, I must hunt down every noble who plotted against me. On the way I found this taste for murder and let's just say it rolled on from there. Of course now you know too much and I am sorry to say that, but," Arthur leaned in on the dumbstruck Alfred. "I will have to kill you." He whispered, a disturbing smile cracked on his face.

Alfred stopped speechless as he watched the silent Brit, "That scone was poisoned wasn't it?"

"My God! You are so gullible."

"Wait! So none of that was true…?" Arthur rolled his eyes, "Obviously it wasn't true."

"But I can't be sure. For all _I know_ it could _true_."

"If it was true, you would already be dead."

On the verge of a passionate refute to the latter statement, it finally registered in Alfred's head that Arthur meant no harm.

"Oh."

"Pfft."

"Well…those scones should still be considered deadly weapons." Ignoring the pointed remark Arthur picked up his coat, "Since you seem to be alright, I'll be going to interrogate some suspects."

"Hey! Wait for me-…since when did you get any suspects?"

"I had my suspicions before Yao consulted us." He explained as he locked the door.

"Arthur! Can we get some real food before we interrogate these 'suspects' of yours? Maybe some hamburgers?"

"My cooking is fine!"

"Sure…"

"Any more on my cooking and I guess I will have to become a murderer."

"Sorry, Sorry!" Alfred smiled brightly as he followed the Brit into the cluttered streets of London stamping happily, slinging his hand over Arthur's shoulder, ignoring the annoyed cries from the shorter man.

Arthur briskly walked down the streets, this time in the common and more populated side of London. They neared the areas where tall, lavishly decorated official buildings loomed over the regulated streets, filled with pompous, self-obsessed, ignorant men, leaching for the short-lived success that was politics. Adjusting the top hat that conveniently covered his eyes yet gave the air that he belonged in the high-class status that occupied the streets; he glanced back to the American. The only thing ruining his practiced disguise was engaged in staring wide-eyed at the buildings and the magnificent carvings that grew from the doorways and roofs of the buildings like a stereotypical tourist.

"You know. If you're so impressed now, I won't be going back to pick you up when we're inside," sneered Arthur.

"I wasn't staring. And America is better anyway."

"Oh well…I'll just leave you here then." Arthur called back, mixing into the crowd effortlessly.

"Hold on Artie!" Alfred yelled, his hand halfway in the air. In his attempt to catch up, shuffling confusedly through the crowd; he bumped into a person. Briefly turning his head to apologise-he was met with childish yet refined violet eyes and platinum blond hair, the person had turned around to the American. Stunned at the unusual appearance in the British country, Alfred could only stammer, "um…sor-", before being dragged by the scowling Brit, "I thought you had eyes."

The tall man watched distantly at the arguing Brit and American his mouth slowing curving into a small smile before he turned away, disappearing back into the flash flood of people, his scarf trailing behind him.

"Hey! Stop dragging me."

"Come on you git."

"Do you know who that was?"

"Who?"

"The person I accidentally bumped in to."

"Oh…"Arthur's eyes glanced behind him, "Well?"

"That was the Russian, Ivan Braginsky." He whispered.

"Why are you whispering?" Alfred whispered back.

"He doesn't have the best reputation."

"Who is he?" Alfred's eyebrows furrowed at the information, nothing about the man looked at all intimidating, maybe except the height. But the Russian heritage would explain the unusual features.

"I'll tell you later, right now we have to meet with a certain suspect."

"Who _is_ this certain suspect? Out of the people I've seen so far, London has some very interesting people."

"Is that sarcasm?"

"No it actually has been interesting." Arthur glared at the cheerful smile Alfred was hosting.

"I'm not too fond of this person but it's necessary to meet him, it's not urgent to interrogate him but if he's innocent we'll be able to get some information, so even if we don't solve this case instantly it'll be quicker anyway."

"So what's so bad about this person?"

"He's French."

Alfred remained silent at the immediate answer, "So?"

Arthur came to a halt at a pair of massive double doors. He banged the majestic doorknocker, the ring of brass gold hung from the small beak of what appeared to be a dove crafted in extreme detail, every feather protruding slightly more than the one under it. Surrounding the dove was a bouquet of roses, leaves and thorns wound up around the detailed flowers. Every line was noticeable; Alfred felt that if he had held the metal flowers in his hands, he would be convinced that gold roses grew from ores of metal and not from seeds.

Watching Alfred completely captivated by the doorknocker was hilarious, but the building _was _more fancily decorated than most of the manors in England, and Arthur had encountered already quite a few manors, already having been in this certain one a few times. Every time he saw the sheer amount of decoration, detail and the flaunting of people's wealth, Arthur's mind floundered, not that he ever showed it. He himself preferred not to act like a show-off unless it was necessary. There_ were_ times when he could genuinely call himself a brat, but those were under totally and completely understandable circumstances. Even so, he gazed approvingly at the limestone walls that contained what Arthur knew to be, the pinnacle of wealth.

Distracted from his train of thought, the door finally opened, revealing a well-kept butler.

"Please excuse the long wait." The french accented butler glanced at the two people waiting at the door, "Mr Kirkland and-?"

"Mr Jones." Answered Arthur quickly.

"-Mr Jones, Master Bonnefoy is waiting in the foyer, he is expecting you." The butler bowed, letting in the guests.

"Thanks for the warning." Arthur murmured briefly, following the over energetic American, "No problem, Arthur."

"Holy Shit! This place is huge! What sort of _person_ is this Bonnefoy?"

The rooms were indeed huge, chandeliers hung extravagantly against the patterned ceiling, tiny crystals of light hid in the teardrops of pearls, glass and gold. Cascading sky blue and caramel orange curtains snuck the light from the arched windows, dust particles glowing in the pale grey light of the sky. Carpets were richly decorated, the furniture composing of classical designs and ornately designed colours. Antique flower vases all accommodated rare assortments of flowers, but most commonly roses. Clashing together were rose buds that hid in the crevices of their closed up petals whilst fully budded ones hogged all the glory. Empty spaces shared between roses that were obviously wilting in the shadows and ones that were captured perfect in timing; just as all the petals had arched out, yet the edges had yet fallen to the slow decay that all would face.

"Really. Who spends so much money on decoration?" Alfred gaped in awe.

"A lot of people, monsieur."

"Hmm?" Alfred turned abruptly to see a man sitting comfortably on a couch, his face framed in long blond hair tied back into a short ponytail with a ribbon, teasing eyes sporting a deep blue, a light stubble coating the bottom of his chin and thin lips smiling seductively.

"Ahh, Bonjour Arthur. I see you have of course have come for my help as usual, a British man like you cannot possibly help himself to my perfect charm." Bonnefoy suddenly spouted of out nowhere, jumping at the Londoner, he whispered "Unless you have come for some _other_ sort of help."

"Shut up. I would have already punched you, but I don't want to get any blood on the furniture." Arthur retorted instantly.

"Mon chéri, can't you ever just admit that you like me?"

"I could never like a frog like you."

"Oh you're so cold, and after all I've done for you. Can't you just spare me one act of kindness in the abyss of cold hatred and badly expressed actions that is you?" Bonnefoy dramatically spouted, a hand brushing his forehead as he feigned the agony of being insulted. His lips in a thin line, Arthur trudged to the Frenchman, flicking his temple painfully, "Shut. Up." The result being the noble wailing exaggeratingly over the pain, "Ah, you're so cruel, Arthur!"

"Tch."

Alfred stared amusedly at the scene showing the two arguing men, chucking at the constant bickering. Arthur's head shot at the American at the sound, having forgotten about Alfred while zealously abusing Francis. "Oh…Alfred um…this is Francis Bonnefoy," Arthur glanced at Francis, "And Francis, this is Alfred Jones."

"Bonjour, Monsieur Alfred."

"Umm…yeah hi."

A pregnant silence followed the brief greeting, filling the air awkwardly, growing longer as the bubble of ineffective replies rushed through the mind of the three men, the bubble being broken abruptly by the sound of pouring tea, the source, the heavily accented french butler.

"So Francis is your source Artie?"

_Artie?_ "Source of what exactly, Mon chéri?" Francis asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Arthur's mouth dropped in shock but he quickly closed it, glaring at Francis, "He is a source of information and information _only_."

"So what do you want to ask the magnificent moi?"

"You know exactly why we're here, the case of The Repent, as the newspapers are calling it."

"The redemption of the politicians through their murder. What a cruel thought."

"I do not control the newspapers. It is not my idea what they print, but indeed all the victims were politicians who had a darker background." Arthur took a sip from his tea.

"And all murdered the same way. The people must be rejoicing."

"And the press is taking full wind of it."

"But who would benefit from the massacre of politicians?" Alfred suddenly stated.

"So you're not useless after all." Arthur muttered.

"Well besides their enemy in the people, other politicians in the court, nobles, foreigners. There are many enemies one can have." Francis barely whispered the last sentence, his voice clouded in shadow.

Glancing at the Frenchman, Arthur only bluntly stated, "You." Francis stared stunned at the offending Brit, "Moi?"

Arthur left his seat, his hands gesturing unspoken words, "You have perfect motive, and more than one. There is the possibility that you are under the French government and are set to destroy England from the inside, taking out certain politicians that would give the French a higher position in the world maybe not in war but definitely in the economy. But that theory is unlikely." Arthur considered the faces of Alfred and Francis looking quite taken aback at the unpredictable information before continuing, "There is also the fact that you belong to a well-off French noble family and every noble family has their secrets. In my opinion the fact that a Frenchman like you moving to England is suspicious enough, there are high prospects in conspiring with the China Trading Company."

"But isn't the China trading company under attack of the murderer? How would working with them help?"

"I am well sure that the China Trading Company knows fully well who the murderer is but exposing them would cause the company unwanted attention and opposition."

"What?! But Yao…" Alfred spluttered.

"Don't trust a single word that he says, he is businessman by heart and trust me, fully experienced in deception."

"Alfred's met Yao?" Francis asked, curious.

"Yes." Arthur answered curtly.

"_Wang_ Yao?"

"Yes."

"Francis, you know Yao?"

"Yes, we are both businessmen."

"Back onto topic, everything could be planned from higher up and _you _could just be a pawn. There is always the underground world and –"

"Arthur you know that I don't work for anyone underground."

"You have worked with them before, like the time that-"

"That was only once and I was desperate."

"Or you could be under the service of _them_." Arthur emphasised the word, his eyes narrowing at the word, Alfred sensed the change in Arthur's words, "Who's _them_?"

"Arthur's silly theories of a controlling force in the underground, not only in England but in other countries such as Germany and Italy, even your homeland of America."

Alfred's eyebrows arched at the information. "What do you mean by a controlling force?"

"A single corporation lead by a single man controlling underground operations in powerful countries, able to control the world through the underground, through mafias and the competition of nations. My idea is that he would be able to start and end wars without charge, able to control countries, politicians, the world unconsciously sitting in the palm of his hands. Such a person would be a danger. If he gained enough power, the world as you know it, would crumble."

"A world war," mumbled Alfred.

"Not only that, but the over-throwing of rules. It would be governed by cowards and through fear." Arthur stared.

"No such organization exists, Arthur. And even if they did, I would not work under them. If you want more proof, I would be in France at the moment, away from such disapproved eyes of those who watch me." Francis defended.

"I know it's not you Francis, but I needed to make sure. The worst enemy of solution is doubt."

"Then what was the point of this!" Alfred yelped.

"To gain information." Arthur flung the files onto the table, the pictures leaking out from the manila files.

Long elegant fingers took hold of a single manila folder. Francis looked at the pictures, detailed close ups of the victims loitered the desk. Fingerprints, weapon analysis's, suspects, profiles of the dead and the area of where they were found all unhidden to their eyes. "Now you help us." Francis looked up the Englishman, "You had this all this time?"

"No, only from last night, but you can narrow down the result, from your… how shall I say…. _connections_."

Sighing Francis, glanced over at the files, "You already know the answer, Arthur."

"I needed to double check."

"So who's the murderer?" Alfred asked eagerly, grimacing at the pale wrinkled face of a victim, puncture holes running across his neck.

"They were all murdered by holes punctured into the nerve points in their necks; it would take someone who is familiar with the body system and have the accuracy to attack from long distance."

"So someone who knows acupuncture." Alfred suggested,

"Not necessarily, but yes that is an option. They would also have to be familiar with the city of London and the politicians themselves. All of these victims," Arthur fingered the pictures, "They were killed instantly and in the places that they were found in, which is odd since some of the places lie near sewers and under the river Thames."

"Politicians would never go willingly to such places, especially these people; they are high class and would never be seen in the average areas of London."

"They'd have to lure them out…But how?" Alfred sighed, this was difficult.

"So the murderer would have to know the nerve points of the human body, so possibly an acupuncturist or doctor. They would have to familiar with London and politicians, suggesting someone who has lived here for a long time and someone who works in the government and knows most of the victims." Alfred summarised, "So who is it?" looking over the list of suspects.

"None of them."

"What?!"

"None of these suspects fit the criteria, but there is a way to bait him out."

"And how is that?" the American sceptically asked.

Arthur held a single card, decorated in gold and cursive writing. Francis smiled, "Do you have one for me, Mon ami? You know you can't navigate nobility without moi."

"Sure I can." But he handed an invitation to him anyway.

"So…" Alfred looked at the invitation handed to him, "We're going to a ball."

"And that is where we will find our murderer." Arthur concluded.

Arthur exited the richly decorated house, the American following him, back out into the streets. "So where to now detective?"

"To the scene of the crime."

"And that is?"

"We're going to the one at the River Thames, then we'll see if there's any evidence at the one in the sewers."

"You sure that there aren't any other…well better places to see where they died?"

"Yeah, but they've been cleaned out, fortunately the crimes scenes which are less…attractive still have most of the uncontaminated evidence."

"Do we still have to go to the sewers?"

"Yes."

Walking out of the bustle, Arthur remerged on the riverbanks of the Thames. Pacing on the edge of the street, borderline to the murky water, steamboats and rusted boats that were roughly held together by chains of metal strung together travelled the lapping water. The air was now clear, the howl of the wind was now singing in the sky, occupied briefly by the loud horns of barges. Arthur closed his eyes in the rare peaceful moment, usually he would drift into a subconscious, just sitting and letting the wind wash his face, escaping the pressures and seizures of London. Some days he would just sit there and look at the sky, away from the industrial pollution, in a more peaceful world. He could never leave London forever of course, but it would be nice to take a break. Letting his mind return to reality Arthur continued to follow the waterline, waiting until they reached the dirt and the shadows under a ledge.

Facing the American, Arthur ordered, "Stay here."

"Huh?"

"Actually, can I trust you to find any evidence here?" Arthur observed their surroundings, handing him a pair of gloves and tweezers.

"You want me to help you." Alfred eyes brightened at the Englishman, grabbing the gloves and tweezers, "I hope you don't destroy anything. First of all, don't let your bare hands touch anything, take note of anything interesting or unusual and if there is any hair, fabric or any evidence of human activity that you usually wouldn't find here take samples of it."

"Wow, thanks Iggy!"

"Don't call me Iggy, I have a name and that name is Arthur. Oh and if you destroy any evidence, I'll destroy you."

Alfred watched as Arthur walked up to the walls and unlocked the metal gate, disappearing into the darkness as the gate closed ominously behind him, the rusty creaking dragged before the echoing click of it sounded the locking of the gates. "Ummm…Iggy…" But the Englishman was no longer in view and Alfred could no longer hear the quick footsteps.

He decided upon doing what Arthur told him to the best of his ability, he was the hero after all. Crouching to the ground, he searched for any things that were different. The twilight sky turning the clouds purple, the sounds of the water exaggerated in the silence, under the last rays of the suns which flashed onto the ground, gold sparkling for a moment before all was engulfed into the silence of night(?). Catching the quick flash, Alfred moved over to where the water was lightly sinking into the ground, the soil glittering with moisture. A large grin smiled on his face. There lying in the ground, the water lapping up on its edge was a single lock of blond hair. Excited at the find, Alfred picked up the tweezers, holding the hair in between the two metal fingers, carefully placing it in the fold of his handkerchief. If it was the hair from the murderer, the whole case could stake on his find. Jumping around for any more pieces of evidence, Alfred eagerly checked every corner, spying the muddy water for any possible remnants of the murder.

Arthur walked in the dark, his eyes adjusting to the blackness, lighting an oil lamplight that he had found a while into the tunnel, he was lucky, it would have been difficult to navigate the tunnels in the dark but usually there were torches or lights left over from the people who had built the tunnels or had previously used them. And if this was the place he was looking for there would have definitely been sources of light.

Stepping over the squeaks from rats scurrying hurriedly to escape the dim, yellow light that he was holding in his hands, his feet squelched on the damp ground. Eventually the squelching ended and was replaced by the splashing of ankle deep water. Moving through the dark water, Arthur tried not to think what he was walking through and what had previously been there. The light fading as Arthur walked deeper into the tunnel, thoughts of going back already in his head, calculating the length of time that the lamp would last and the distance that he had travelled. All but ready to turn to return to the gate, Arthur was stopped by the receding depth of water; his feet meeting cold hard stone once again, under the light Arthur could see the imprints of shoes and worn stone. People had been here, and not too long ago.

Putting his lamp on a ledge, Arthur opened an iron door, leading to a dead end, but it was not the end of the tunnel that attracted him, it was the piles of worn, decaying paper. Backtracking a few steps out of the room and back into the tunnel, Arthur walked into one of the other tunnels that breached from the crossroads, picking up a rock and placing it in a precarious position on the ledge that ran the length of the tunnel. Returning to the room, Arthur picked up the papers, most of which were just financials and reports, out-dated and no use at the moment, filing through, Arthur paused. A file under a pile of books had caught his eyes. Delicately pulling out the browning cardboard, he opened the folds; in it were pictures, pictures of the victims. Flicking though the pages, Arthur's eyes recorded the faces, not only were there pictures but notes on where and when they were to be killed. Shoving the file into his coat he looked over the small room, there was other information that could be useful, even scaring to some of the politicians. Curious, Arthur reached up to the latest murder but there were more pictures, well it was expected that they would continue, indifferently turning the page, the proposed victim surprised him, the picture stood out, it wasn't any politician or any Brit. Instead it was the scowling face of a merchant, a trader. It was the face of Wang Yao.

The picture stared through him, personally he had no ties to Yao, they were mutual enemies and welcomed each other's hate, but for some reason he could not let the trader die. He had no idea of Yao's past or what he usually did in his life, but he could not watch an innocent die, well innocent in this case, he was pretty sure the Asian man was capable of first degree murder. There was no way he actually wanted Yao to live; it was only because he was a good source of information, only a good source of information.

Suddenly distracted from his thoughts by the sounds of splashing water, Arthur urgently put out the oil lamp, shoving a few more files into his coat. Before pressing himself up against the wall, in the shadows behind the door, Arthur slowed his breathing, waiting anxiously for the incoming voices. It wasn't too long before Arthur heard the hushed but obviously annoyed voices.

"Someone's been here."

"You sure?"

"They still could be here, check in the secret room." _Secret Room?_

Suddenly the ruffling of the two men stopped, as they heard the drop and splash of something in one of the outer tunnels. "Heh, we've got him now."

Arthur relaxed after he heard the disintegrating of the footsteps, figuring the time to search the room or to escape, but if he were to escape without trying they would probably destroy the room before he could gain any more information, deciding to take his chances, Arthur searched the room, accidentally knocking over the books, but instead of the crashing, there was a hollow sifting and the wall gave way. Arthur made sure that he couldn't sense any other sound before entering the room. Inside was a single rectangular box, a detailed puzzle engraved into the wood. Picking up the box hurriedly, Arthur shut the door, running out the iron door checking all sides before running into the dark tunnel, slowing down to walk to decrease the sound in the water, sliding rather than walking in the water, opting to walk in darkness.

Finally reaching the stone floors, Arthur turned on the light, taking a right turn instead.

America fiddled, sitting with his back to the cold stones, the moon now high overhead, he was getting worried. There were other pieces of evidence he had found but Arthur still hadn't returned, how long had it been again? Shooting up, he approached the door, insistent on breaking the lock, shanking the chilled iron bars. "Why is London so damn cold?"

"You better get used to it then." Arthur walked out from the shadows closing the door behind him.

"AHHH!" Alfred screamed, his arms flailing in the air.

"Hmm?" Arthur dusted off his clothes, cursing at the ends of his pants that were soiled in sewer water.

"Stop. Doing. That. To. Me."

"No."

"So what were you doing in there? You didn't come out for a while, the doors were locked so I couldn't come and save you if you were in trouble, like the hero that I am." Alfred grinned.

Somewhat annoyed at the arrogant tone in Alfred voice he answered anyway, "Research."

"What sort of research?"

"I found out the future victims." Arthur held out the file, "Did you find anything interesting?"

"I found some hair; it's blond and looks around shoulder length."

"What shade of blond?"

"Light I guess, and it's straight."

"Oh, ok then."

"So, who are the "future victims" as you put it?" Alfred stretched his hands behind his back, the two men already making their way back to Arthur's house.

Handing the American the file, Arthur surveyed the look of Alfred's face as he skimmed through the pages, a studious look taking over his face, one that grearly clashed with his personality.

"It appears the target is closer to us that we think." Arthur muttered as Alfred reached the page with Yao on it.

"Yao?! Why is the target Yao?"

"I suspect it's either because he holds information, or it's because of this." Arthur revealed the puzzle box, "It's an odd puzzle, not a tile puzzle or one that expects someone to figure it out, but it seems that you have to know the answer before you're able to solve it."

"So people who don't know the answer to the puzzle wouldn't be able to open it."

"I expect something like that."

"Why would Yao know such a thing? He practically blackmailed you into this."

"It's only a hunch, I not even sure that Yao knows the answer."

"We should warn him." Alfred said hurriedly.

"Look at the time of murder." Alfred scanned the paper, pulling out the invitation out of his back pocket, "They're going to murder him after the ball, what does that mean?"

"It means we're going to have to go that ball and give our greetings to him and a certain someone."

"It means I will be the hero!"

Chapter Fin


	3. Chapter III: Playing Unstrung Strings

A/N: Apologies from me and mein editor because of our...to put it bluntly of our laziness...and this is the edited version~

R & R~

* * *

The carriage rolled to a halt, the wheels crunching into the ground in front of a rather squashed building. Standing at two storeys, it packed itself in-between two larger buildings, but unusually to the Frenchmen, the scene did not look odd at all. He shrugged off the feeling to completely redecorate the inferior city. It could never compare to the wonders of Paris or most of the main cities in his homeland of France. Sighing, he left his cushioned elegant form of transport, exiting out the lacquered door, mumbling that even if he could change the city, it would still remain indifferent, he could try to change the structures of society and the stone barriers that enclosed the city but he could never change the people, the British were stubborn and that, he could never dare to change. Amused at his own train of thoughts, Francis strutted up the cobblestone steps of an Englishman's house, his heels tapping musically on the stone. Flicking back his golden locks, sophisticatedly tied by an indigo – blue bow, he knocked delicately on the wooden door. Who knew what horrifying English tastes would come tear at him. Smiling he positioned himself as he heard the door give a resounding click and pulled a crimson red rose seemingly out of nowhere.

Arthur stomped to the door; he was in a reasonably annoyed mood at the moment, a certain American had been driving him off the hook. Seriously, any longer and he would have sworn the American would be sobbing in the street, hopefully in the rain. Luckily the newcomer would be a distraction, but something in the back of Arthur's mind knew that the certain person outside would only help worsen his growing headache. Reaching out to open the door he heard the ominous sound of the click.

"Bonjour monsieur. The fabulous _moi_ has come to rid you of your terrible English tastes." Arthur's eyes desperately wandered, finding any where to look besides the pompous Frenchman standing at his door, leaning on the side walls, a rose resting between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes half-lidded and a teasing smile twisted on his face.

"What are you doing here Francis!?" Arthur shouted, his initial shock wasting away.

"Ahh, but of course I'm here for the ball." Francis answered suavely, letting himself into Arthur's house, throwing his expensive coat into the Englishman's face on his way in. Arthur acted accordingly, shoving off the coat that was temporarily blinding him, dumping it on the floor as he shut the door remorsefully, following the annoying Frenchman into the kitchen, where consequently Alfred was waiting.

"Hey, how come Francis is here? You didn't tell me he was coming!" The American shouted.

"That is because I didn't invite him in the first place." Arthur massaged his head. "But Mon Cheri, wouldn't it be easier for us to go to the Ball? It would be troublesome to have to meet up in the building, no?" Francis offered, his hands helping convey the well-practised excuse.

"Troublesome?! Troublesome, I don't think so. Once we even get there, I'd expect you to disappear and the next thing we know, you're flirting with all the women in the room." Arthur's tone offended. "Ah yes that." Francis could not deny that he would often, in Arthur's direct words, flirt with women, but what could he do, everyone else was terribly and so absolutely utterly boring, to put it lightly.

"Well, I guess it's too late now. You want a hamburger?" Alfred offered one from the many stacked on a plate, "I finally found some in England."

"I apologise, but I'll decline." the Frenchman backed away, mildly disturbed at the speed the American was consuming the hamburgers.

"You sure? They don't taste too bad, not as good as in America but its ok."

"No. I am quite sure."

"Why do you even eat them Alfred? They taste horrible." Arthur called down from his room.

"So says the Englishman." Francis smirked.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing no one already knows, just that you don't have any tastebuds whatsoever. But that much is obvious. Right Alfred?" Francis continued, his sly smile growing larger and his voice teasing Arthur further and further. Alfred shivered at the memories of the scones, his appetite disappearing for a moment before he continued to stuff the hamburgers into his mouth.

"Yep."

"Oh shut up."

"Well I'll just visit the temperamental mistress, yes." Francis offered. Alfred smiled at the insult, "Sure, just don't get burnt."

"I'll try not to."

Alfred scoffed, "Good luck with that."

Francis climbed the narrow stairs, opening the door slowly as to not disturb the silence on the floor and Arthur. He spotted the Londoner fiddling with a bowtie, already wearing an unbuttoned waistcoat, the swallowtail suit lying discarded on the bed. "You're wearing that thing?"

Arthur yelped, the unexpected voice surprising him, "Francis, you can't just leave me alone can you?"

"You know that wouldn't be any fun." Arthur huffed, annoyed at Francis's rebuff. "Anyway, Arthur, why are you wearing this?" Francis held up the suit with a disgusted expression plastered across his face, "Don't you have _anything_ else at all?"

"No. It's good enough anyway."

"But, you _can't_ wear this! You British have no fashion sense at all."

"Unlike someone, I do not want to attract any attention. This will be fine." Arthur indicated to his clothes, before snatching back the black suit and slipping it on, dusting off the outfit and picking up a velvet black top hat before walking past Francis and out into the hallway. "Arthur. Just one thing. Why do you want save Yao? Didn't you once wish him dead?"

Arthur's mind flew back to a time where only the past existed, his memories engulfing him until he turned back to the present to answer the question, "Personally I don't know. You already know that I am not a person who would grieve over someone's death."

"You have an ulterior motive?" Francis asked warily.

"I guess that is one way to put it." Arthur sighed, "You remember what happened, I guess I owe him a life."

"Or you just want to fuel your own selfish desires." Francis commented emptily.

"Probably." Arthur straightened his hat, "Well, time to get a move on."

Francis followed as Arthur continued back down the stairs, "Alfred, are you ready yet?!"

"Sure, sure…hey Artie do I have to wear all this stuff?" Alfred walked out, clad in a simple yet elegant suit.

"It's not even that much, you'll survive." Alfred puffed, unconvinced.

"So I'll go catch a cab?" Arthur walked out into the hallway, picking up the invitations. "There will be no need for that, Arthur. You can just come in my carriage and it's already outside." Arthur narrowed his eyes at the proposition, his pride the only thing stopping him from accepting, "Oh! Come on, let's just go already!"

"Fine."

So much for his pride.

The carriage rattled on the cobblestone road, the three men silent in the constant sound of hoof beats and clattering of wood making contact with stone. The carriage itself was fancy, soft velvet indigo curtains lined the small windows, the seats cushioned with dark navy leather which was soft to the skin. Arthur sat, his elbow on the window, head resting in his hand, eyes fluttering closed in the silence, not entirely comfortable but not awkward either. Alfred leaned on the cool wood, his eyes bored. Francis watched uninterested, they all knew what was coming.

"What about Yao?" he eventually asked.

"Yao will be at the ball; that is for sure." Arthur replied sharply.

"But what are we going to do? And how do we find the murderer?" Francis inquired.

"Hopefully we'll be able to contact Yao during the party. I'm sure after all that he will be able to take care of himself." Arthur paused. "About the murderer, we know that they'll be male and have blond, around shoulder – length hair and would most likely be a foreigner. Someone from East Europe maybe. Judging by the murders, most likely agile, so short of stature and probably fit as well. I suspect it won't be too hard to find the murderer, looking at the previously determined guests and the people in reach of entering the Ball. Also I must say that the murderer would probably be accompanied. So don't do anything rash." Arthur directed the last statement towards a certain American, "Is that enough information?"

"I won't do anything rash! What gave you that idea?" Alfred smiled brightly, "But yeah, I guess the murderer will be pretty obvious."

"What if they don't let us see him in the first place?"

"Then we find him."

The carriage slowed, coming to a complete stop in front of a grand building, parched yellow lights blowing out from the windows and doors, the flow of classical music barely in reach. Flocks of men and women in elaborate dresses stood in the entrance of the steps, mingling with each other. Stairs led to double doors, marked by footmen, their suits pressed impeccably, and faces still of any emotion. The pruned bushes were tame with organised flowers and thin trees sprouted straight branches into the sky, their apparent colour unseen under the twilight sky. Alfred stepped out of the carriage in line with others, staring at the manor and people clustered around, even outside the main hall. "Wow, I never expected so many people."

"What? This is normal here." Arthur followed, stretching his limbs after the ride.

"This isn't even grand compared to Paris." Francis smirked, watching Arthur from the corner of his eye as he pouted at the insult, "So shall we start?"

The three men walked into the grandiose building, Arthur flashing their invitations, before briskly walking in, his hat shadowing his identity. Alfred unused to the situation advanced to the corners of the room, his eyes keeping a lookout for anyone out of the ordinary or fitting the suspect's description. His eyes took in the multitudes of people talking in small groups, the limestone floor mirroring the crystal chandelier, the shards of crystal spreading light across the room and the floor marked in stately patterns, the walls shiny with red wood, various portraits marked the carved walls. Large exquisite vases contained roses and neatly grown flowers.

Alfred looked out the large, narrow windows that were placed symmetrically around the hall, letting in view of the pleasant sight of the thin, darkening purple- tinged sky encasing the event; small twinkles were visible as people gossiped, the carriages ever increasing as people emerged from horse – drawn ornaments. Alfred smiled as he spotted a particular Frenchmen chatting to a group of young ladies, and from what he saw; most of them were either giggling or blushing. Unable to the find Arthur among the chuckling men, most of which had stomachs of the larger variety and beards and moustaches that grew all over their faces, growing in the weirdest ways possible, crawling on their faces like the tails of forest creatures, ranging from white to spotted brown.

Alfred finally spotted the Brit, talking politely to a short, stocky man with small eyes that resembled a bird's. But something caught Alfred's eye, he only caught a glimpse of long, lavender – tinted scarf. Deciding to shrug the instance off, he continued to spy the masses of people, admiring the women in extremely poofy dresses, some of their hairstyles wanting to climb to the roof. But then he saw the scarf again, it was unusual; there was something about it that was nagging him. With no sign of anyone fitting the criteria of the suspected murderer, Alfred decided to follow the scarf.

Arthur politely excused himself from the person he was talking to. He had to find Yao, quickly. Who knew where the murderer was at the moment? Francis was off flirting again, who knew when he would actually contribute to a case. Parting his way through the people, he caught a glimpse of what hopefully was Yao, increasing his speed he headed towards the spot, running into a few people he recognised, nodding off the quick hellos and questions and almost running into a certain Asian.

"Oh hello." Arthur started.

"Hello." The Asian man responded. Arthur looked over his shoulder still looking for a certain someone, "I didn't know you were coming, do you happen to know where Yao is?"

"He is probably around." Kiku answered.

"Ah, thank you for your assistance." Arthur left, eyes still scanning for any sign of the Chinese merchant. He had not expected that Kiku would have come to the party but at the moment was too occupied than rather ask questions to passing acquaintances. Straightening himself his eyes once again eyed the mass of people, searching for the should be recognisable long black hair. However, apparently the Chinese man was good at blending in. The blond haired man was rendered unable to catch any glimpse due to** the** , but an odd feeling was hinting that he was nearby. Only hoping feebly, Arthur continued to search, his footsteps quiet under the music of the orchestra as he circled the room, walking parallel to the large arching windows and the dull golden curtains. Completing a circle around the room, Arthur stared aimlessly at the orchestra, peering at the chandelier and the chains that held the hanging crystal monument, his gaze then wavering to the coats littered together in the coat room, the door hanging just out of being completely closed. Curiosity gnawing at him as he was tempted into sliding into the room, glancing at the footmen at the door, distracted. Letting the temptation swallow him, Arthur walked in.

Francis looked up, just in time to see the green eyed Brit slip into the coat room. Smiling Francis wondered why his rival had entered the room, his train of thought slipping to the fact that the Britisher was actually quite a capable pickpocket and had actually stolen from him before. He hadn't realised until Arthur bothered to tell him and when he witnessed times where Arthur managed to steal the wallets of politicians passing by or when he was talking to them, his face not breaking for a second when he stole the money of the person he discussed economics with. Oh the irony. Breaking himself from his little reverie, his attention turned back to the belle he was now talking to. His eyes glanced passed her, yes, he was really looking for clues, but he did like the company of the beauty in front of him. Unfortunately, something had caught his suspicion. There were several people at the party who wouldn't usually attend such balls. Excusing himself, gracefully of course, he walked towards the refined figure of such a person. Glasses framing violet eyes, dark brown hair painted dignity around pale skin, his stiff figure clothed in deep, dark navy robes.

"Bonjour, Roderich. One does not see you out of Austria so often." The Frenchman began charmingly.

"Hello, Francis. What owes me this pleasure." The Austrian replied sarcastically.

"Oh nothing, just my goodwill. But seriously, what are you doing at a ball in England of all places?"

"I could say the very same to you."

"Unfortunately I have le business." The Austrian looked sceptically at him, "So do I." Francis let himself a small grin at the brief answer.

"But may I inquire what business; such a Frenchman would have in England." The ghost of a smile on his lips as his asked the question.

"Ah, nothing more than a favour to a friend, we shall say, and appearances, but there are many beautiful women here."

"Most of them married."

Francis smiled at the curt answer, he did know what people said about him, "I only ask for simple conversations tonight, what occurs in that mind of yours?"

"Hmpf."

"But what business do you have here; no doubt you already have contacts in England?" Francis inquired.

"Like you, a favour I owe to a friend. And as well appearances. "

"Not for the belles here? But you do realise that you do have admirers, and it is amusing how they are hovering, onlooking us at this very moment." Francis whispered, not too quietly. Indeed many girls were giggling at the two rather handsome men conversing with each other, their faces behind small, dainty fans, their blushes concealed but growing at the blond's compliments. "But I'll leave you now. There is this one catching my eye." And Francis strutted confidently to the group of women, showering them with charming compliments.

Alfred rounded a group of men, their round figures chatting about the political status of the European countries at the moment. He barely kept up with the sight of the scarf and only managed to keep to a fairly brisk walk.

Hey, did Iggy just walk into a closet?

His head turned sharply to the side; he hadn't noticed where he was heading. Suddenly the side of his face collided with the back of someone tall.

"Oh."

Alfred suddenly realised where he was going, stumbling at the sudden contact, staring into the neat suit and long scarf of the person he had been tailing the entire time, his bright blue eyes made contact with interested purple ones. Purple was an unusual eye colour especially when they were so adamant against the platinum blonde hair and extremely pale skin.

Wait! He had seen this person before, the guy he bumped into previously. What was his name…I...Ivan…Ivan Braginsky, yeah that was his name.

"Privyet."

"Oh…um…yeah…Hello." Alfred recovered, an awkward silence following.

The Russian chuckled, "Why don't you have anything to say? You have been following me for a while now."

Alfred blushed, embarrassed, "You noticed."

"Yes. It was quite noticeable. Might I ask why you were following me?" Ivan asked.

"Oh I just thought I'd seen you before."

"I remember no such meeting." Alfred frowned; he was sure the Russian remembered everything but continued to play along. Only just remembering his manners, he abruptly spouted, "Jones, Alfred Jones by the way."

"Ivan Braginsky. You are American, I suspect?"

"Yes, and are you Russian?" Alfred asked, even though he already knew the answer, "Da, that is true." Ivan smiled out of nowhere, "I have a feeling that we will meet again, no?"

"Yeah… maybe."

Arthur walked casually out of the coat room, a dark long coat hanging on his elbow; hopefully he hadn't been too long. Checking over everything, he saw Francis in the middle of a group of girls, Alfred talking to…Ivan Braginsky of all people. He'd have to tell the boy about that man, but abruptly he caught the sight of black hair, long, black hair. Rushing towards the sight, he urgently needed to talk to Yao, already having wasted too much time. Sidestepping men and women alike, he finally had a full view of the Chinese merchant, though it was unusual. Out of the silk robes and long sleeves that transcended his hands, he instead was wearing a neat, black suit, his hair was tied with an elegant bow, resting on his shoulder comfortably as he talked with people. It was unusual to the Asian tastes, but appearance wise suited the Chinese man fine. Now that he finally remembered, Kiku was wearing a suit as well, maybe he had just been expecting Yao to wear the dragon encrusted clothes he had always seen him in. Sighing at his unconscious stereotypical views, Arthur walked to the man conversing with many people, wondering himself if the topic was opium. In such parties many people always had dealings with the underground.

"Yao, fancy seeing you here." Arthur stated, walking into the conversation.

"Ah, Arthur good evening." Yao smiled a perfectly faked smile, "I did not expect seeing you here."

"Might I excuse myself, I had a very enlightening conversation with you Mr Wang." Squeaked the man Yao was talking to.

"No, thank you sir." Yao replied graciously, turning to Arthur, "Now what are you doing here?"

"Yao, come with me, there are too many people here at the moment."

"Fine. This seems important." Arthur lead the man into the corner of the room just as a waltz was introduced to the floor inducing men and women to flock to dance.

"Oh, by the way, where did the 'aru' go?" Arthur asked genuinely curious.

"You think I would use verbal tics in such public events?" Yao replied, Arthur feeling somehow weird without the Chinese man finishing off his sentences with the signature 'aru'.

Getting straight to the point that caused them to be here in the first place, "You're being targeted."

"Huh, for what?"

"From the," Arthur whispered, "murderers."

"Oh." Arthur watched Yao's face carefully, "I already knew about that."

Arthurs jaw fell open, he had known the whole time?! "W…When did you find out?" Yao smiled at Englishman's stunned face, "A few days ago."

"How?"

"I have my ways, Mr Kirkland."

"But you knew, you knew the whole time that you were being targeted and you still came here." Arthur asked, shocked.

"Yes, after finding out who some of the victims were, I figured I'd be targeted one way or another, I guess it was expected."

"But why come anyway, wouldn't it be safer away from the designated place of murder."

"This place is more public, if I weren't to come, I would, how to say, disappear." Yao stated, unfazed by the fact they were talking about his _murder_, Arthur agreed, he did have a point. "So we came for nothing."

"No you did not aru."

"Hmm?" Arthur looked surprised, "You have a chance to finally end this badly played façade, but I think you already knew that, detective."

Arthur smiled slyly, "You never know."

"Hopefully, you know something, because my life might actually be on the line, though I doubt it." Yao glanced quickly around the room.

"You already knew everything before you asked me to look on this case. You just needed someone to do the work so it would look okay on the outside." Arthur accused, his eyes narrowing slightly at the small smile the merchant was giving him.

Alfred watched out of the corner of his eye as Arthur talked to Yao. Something must have happened, because he had looked shocked for a while but it seemed okay now. His eyes flickered between the conversation between them and the conversation he was holding with the Russian. "What are you looking at?" Ivan asked instantly. Damn, why had he have to be so observant?

"Just a friend, I guess."

"The detective?" Wow, Ivan had good eyesight.

"You know him?"

"He has a reputation, Arthur Kirkland, da?"

"Yeah."

"He knows Wang Yao?"

"You know Yao." Did everyone know each other or was it seriously just coincidence.

"Da. It was from a while back though; I didn't know he was here."

"Really?" Alfred asked curious at how they knew each other. Well, Ivan was Russian and Yao was Chinese, their countries _were_ pretty close. But while Alfred was taking his sweet time thinking, the Russian had already advanced towards the conversing Brit and Asian.

"Hey."

"Arthur."

"Yes."

"You didn't tell me Ivan was here." There was something in the ebony haired man's voice, something he couldn't pinpoint, a tone he never heard in Yao's voice. "Ivan, as in Ivan Braginsky?" Arthur asked, confused.

"Aiya." Yao looked around for any escape routes as he watched Ivan approach.

"I didn't know you were here today, Yao?"

"Ah, yes…Ivan." Yao's head drooped slightly as the fact he was trapped palmed him in the face.

"How have you been?" The dark haired man asked reluctantly.

"Oh not as good since you left, it has been rather lonely, da."

"Left…? How do you two know each other?" Alfred suddenly asked.

"Yao, you haven't told them? But there is so much to tell, da." Ivan cocked his head slightly, seeming now very childish, a stark contrast to Yao's face which was streaked with alarm.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur, asked, extremely confused at the conversation before him.

"You didn't know Yao, was or maybe still is a –" Ivan suddenly chocked, his scarf constricting his airflow, the Chinese man twisting the lavender fabric harshly. "There. Is. Nothing. For. Them. To. Know." He gritted through his teeth, his tone dark and murderous, suddenly turning to Arthur and Alfred with innocent eyes, "Just ignore him." They only nodded.

"Wow. I've never seen anyone openly choke a mafia heir, Yao must really have a past." Arthur muttered.

"Ivan's a mafia heir!?" Alfred suddenly whispered sharply, complete and utter shock outlining his features, his mouth opened wide. He had talked to him so openly, who knew what evil he had committed behind his back?

Alfred shivered unconsciously, "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I was going to, but oh well." Arthur said, his tone indifferent.

"When, exactly?"

"Pretty soon, actually. But there isn't much to tell, I guess I can give you a background later. I'm surprised you haven't heard of him, he does have quite a reputation."

"What sort of reputation?" Alfred asked earnestly, but the look Arthur gave him lead him to fear the worst. "Let's just say, the sort of reputation the main heir to the most powerful Russian Family has." Arthur glanced at the American, amused at the horrified face of the American soldier.

"But…"

"Oh come on. Don't you have to look for a certain murderer?"

"Oh…Crap."

"Have you even found out anything?" Arthur asked sceptically.

"Well, there haven't actually been any people that fit all of the things that you said that he would be, so yeah."

"Then what are we going to do?" Arthur asked quietly, yet his voice had no real conviction of finding out the answer.

"It is simple, we wait aru." Yao's eyes peering deeply into Arthur's, their gaze held coldly against each other.

"Fine, we wait. But don't blame me if you end up with needles in your neck."

"I never said stop searching; anyway it would be pointless to you if needles did end up in my neck. So, I'll see you later." Yao argued back, before walking into the array of people, asking a young maiden to a dance, merging into the minefield of dancers.

"I hate him."

"But he does have a point right?"

"Yes and the point is that you better find that bloody murderer before I kill you myself." Arthur screeched quietly, his eyes closed in a pathetic attempt to clear his mind.

"Oh! Ok, bye then." The blonde spluttered quickly before rushing away quickly, eyes desperate in finding a young man with shoulder length hair.

He was confused why it was so hard; even as he had been talking to Ivan, he hadn't stopped looking because the hero never gives up. With new resolve Alfred straightened up, eyes glinting behind his glasses, running off, numerous possibilities in his head. Looking up, he was stunned that he hadn't noticed that there was a second floor to the hall; maybe it was the fact that it wasn't visible from other angles that it was nearly invisible. And _really_, who bothered to look up except to look at the fancy chandeliers?

Since there was a second level even though it was hidden in the colour choices and decorations, and with just the right angle he could see the gap between the walls, there must've been stairs somewhere. Maybe that was why he couldn't find the murderer, maybe he had been watching the whole time, from above. He needed to tell someone, but Arthur was out of sight, Ivan had disappeared, but he maybe went outside. Yao, he didn't bother anymore in making sure where Yao was, so that only left Francis. Fortunately he saw the Frenchman talking to someone and hurried in specified direction. He made eye contact with Francis, his head twitching off to side for a split second. Understanding the message, Francis excused himself from the conversation, meeting the blond in the corner of the room.

"What is it?" he demanded, his French accent clearly pronounced.

"The murderer, I think he's on the second floor."

"Second floor?"

"If you look at the right angle, you can see there's a second floor. I'm pretty sure that the murderer had been watching the whole thing from above."

"Does Arthur know this?"

"I don't know, I haven't told him but…"

"…But he may already know." The Frenchman finished, his face serious. "I'll go find him, you see if you can find a way up there, there is still a chance that the murderer is not up there at all, but check anyway."

"Ok, make sure that Artie knows everything ok?"

"Oui." Francis watched the young blonde for a few seconds before pivoting around, looking for monstrous eyebrows and messy blonde hair. It was easy to find things when you knew what you were looking for, watching with blatant sarcastic interest as the Brit walked out from coat room for the second time, "What is with him and that room?"

"Arthur. Arthur! Why do you have a hat with you?" The Londoner turned sharply, spotting the eager Frenchman, "Oh, it's just you. Now what is it?"

"Alfred has an idea where the murderer is."

"And where is that?"

"Upstairs." Francis watched Arthur's reaction closely, "Really? Ok then, hopefully we can end this quickly."

"What's with the hat though?"

"I feel like I might need this later." Francis beheld Arthur for a moment, his English mind a bit too weird for comfort, "Hope the ghosts didn't tell you to."

"Oh shut up."

Something flickered in the corner of Arthur's eye where Yao was talking to Kiku, not necessarily where but maybe marginally above where they were talking. There a flash of yellow light caught his eye.

Arthur frowned, "Francis, go back to Alfred. _Now_."

"Why?" Francis looked at the Brit, his eyebrows furrowed deeply, following the inquisitive green eyes. "Ok. I'll go warn him, don't do anything stupid." But Arthur had already disappeared.

Alfred saw Francis running at him, his hands pointing to the corner of the ceiling of the ballroom. What?! Oh…shit. Alfred, scrambled up the steps, he had just managed to find in the dejected crevice of the lavish ballroom, a narrow staircase. The sounds of his footfalls echoed hollowly, the wood sinking in those hasty footfalls, leading the American ever higher, ever closer to finally catching the murderer.

He aimed carefully, his hair thankfully out of his way, holding the gun steadily in his hands. One eye shut. No one noticed him in the nook between some decorations and the shadows, but conveniently there was a big enough gap, not so much that people would see him but enough to get a good view on the ballroom and his target. Today there were people watching in the crowd. They knew what was going on and would throw suspicion somewhere else. After all, this target was important to remove, especially after the files were stolen by some thief, no one was expecting that someone would find their hideout and the secret room. Blindly thanking the gods that he wasn't on guard duty that day or else he probably wouldn't be here, like those other two unfortunate people. Sighing he looked through the eyehole ready to shoot, his gloved finger resting on the trigger, all he needed was the final signal.

There it was.

Clenching slightly, the trigger nearly made its way, but suddenly someone stood in front of the target. Damn it, his orders was to only kill the target, anybody else would arouse suspicion, and any longer, he would have gotten punishment. But damn the timing was annoying, plus the night wouldn't last forever, they had to get the job done, tonight. But looking at the alarmed faces of the watchers, something was wrong, the person who stood in front of the target was completely covered, a dark black cloak, floating around the floor like tidal waves, the corners of a mask visible to his sharp eyes, a top hat worn snug on his head, shadowing his face, a violin perched in his hands.

"I apologise for the interruption, but I felt it was time for a change of pace." The mysterious person stated. "A change in music, feel free to dance ladies and gentlemen, this is all, of course for entertainment."

The silent crowds of people suddenly relaxed, holding their positions with whatever partners they were already dancing with, "The song I shall play, will of course be something different than a Viennese waltz or foxtrot, it shall be Tartini's, The Devil's Trill. I may not be able to complete the whole sonata but please enjoy."

The man's fingers held the violin bow expertly, with his first strike of the strings, the sounds echoed alone in the air, followed by another which lead the air to feel enclosed. Joint by a single song, the melodies danced slowly, burning and dying in the air. The emotion in the violin was something that Alfred had never heard before, the techniques, the music; the violin itself sang. It was like his mind was transported to another world, he watched the violinist play, his mouth sporting a crafty grin as the bow slid on the strings from different angles. No one danced, no one moved; they were all completely and wholly captured by the sole notes of the song. Then he began the trills and the song changed pace completely, lighting up mischievously, bringing in the excitement of the crowd before dying into beautiful notes, moving slowly. He moved and walked with the notes he performed, the black cloak, inking around the slights around him, he had the audience captured. Then the violin danced. It was if a demon spirit entered the instrument, erupting such high pitched fantasies easily. Taking the distraction lightly, Alfred continued sneaking ever closer to the murderer, waiting unbeknownst to the approaching American, the notes still poisoning the air.

Taking the opportunity to move even closer, Alfred finally saw the murderer, his hands poised on a gun, shoulder length blonde hair framing his face and attentively, determined green eyes, clothed in black, waiting for the right second where he could shoot. Stepping closer, something crunched under his feet. Shit! The person faced him, eyes wide in astounded silence, the air hung dead between them before Alfred finally accused. "You're under arrest," pointing a revolver at the blonde.

"Hey, that's like totally unfair, you snuck up on me."

Surprised at the sudden outburst, he was distracted as the man made a run for it, running past the American quickly, but followed earnestly.

"Hey stop!" he shouted, the music clouding any sound from escaping to the ears of the people below.

He glanced up, the decoy was arranging things nicely, of course he, acting as the informant hadn't actually told the assassin everything, but money spoke instead of words and so far the job was going rather swimmingly. His eyes flickered around him; everyone was caught in a hypnotised state, oblivious to the rash actions above them. Slipping out a few needles into the crevices between his fingers, the hair thin spikes were invisible to the unsuspecting eye.

The Pole ran from the man as quick as possible but he needed to do something, he looked down to see if any of the watchers were paying attention, locking eyes with one, he followed the gaze as the watcher's eyes moved upward quickly, to the chandelier. They couldn't have wanted him to, could they? But it was the best he had at the moment. Leaping suddenly, he caught the chains of one of the hanging crystal lights, he was a light and flexible person, it was easy for him to do such feats, crawling across the giants chains.

He jumped, the person had _jumped_, but after Alfred looked over the railings, he saw him hanging on the chains, not unlike a spider in some ways. Looking down onto the people, the violinist was still playing, Francis was watching, he looked like he had a smug smile on his face but at that distance Alfred couldn't tell, Yao was standing under the chandelier…chandelier. Alfred stood flabbergasted; he had to warn him somehow, they were going to drop the whole thing down onto the floor. In that moment he couldn't think of anything else and instead, ran, towards the stairs; he could get to them quick enough before the thing came down.

Alfred wrenched himself down the stairs, re-entering the captured ballroom, still enthralled in the violin's spell. Looking up in horror, as the chandelier creaked, the metal straining.

Yao looked at the person walking towards him, the swift yet soundless steps loud in his ears. He watched as the needles hung ominously in his hands. Yao walked towards the man, coming further under the chandelier. The man threw the needles, the whistling in the air non-existent, Yao dodged the most likely poisoned weapons, or he thought he had.

Francis looked up, he, unlike most of the people in the room was unaffected by the song, he had heard similar things before, even better. But a creaking sound had distracted him, he gawked at the angle that the chandelier was hanging on. "The chandelier!" he shouted, alerting the hundreds of people in the room. At said warning, they were all gawping at the hazardous light, gasps could be heard from women and undignified shouts from men.

"Get away from the light! Now!" Alfred shouted in the chaos, watching as it hung, barely unable to keep itself up, the murderer now long hidden in the shadows. As the violin sang the final last notes, a snapping sound erupted in the air, and the chandelier plummeted to the ground. Alfred looked horrified as Yao was trapped by something on the spot, but he didn't see fear in his eyes, only apathetic curiosity. The metal shattering towards the floor, the glass and crystals, sparked out in small fireworks, small flecks of shards drowning the floor, the metal skeleton, dented severely. But there was no body underneath the wreckage. Instead Yao was massaging his elbow. He had been pulled back at the last minute, but by whom?

The violinist had disappeared and Francis was now talking eagerly to Arthur. Alfred's eyes narrowed, he needed to talk to him.

"Hey Artie! Where were you the whole time?!" He demanded.

"What do you mean? I was here the whole time, I saw the whole thing. Unfortunately I couldn't do anything."

"What do you mean "couldn't do anything"?"

"I had my hands occupied, literally." Arthur folded his hands, "Well you needed a distraction."

At this Alfred was extremely confused, "What?"

"Oh never mind, we'll discuss it later, but now the murderer is running away, so let's go already!"

"I'll definitely catch him this time, the hero never loses!" Alfred slid through the masses of people, picking themselves up from the wreckage and arguing at the tragedy and complaining to anyone listening to petty excuses and boring remarks. For the people who caught a glimpse of the murderer, they were shouting about sabotage and the direct attack from other nations, or overly exaggerated plots of assassination. Others were trying to calm down everybody else, but that never worked. Alfred swivelled between the people, passing quickly over the stone steps and in pursuit of the lithe killer, Arthur ran after the energetic American, Francis following after.

"Yao, do they even know where they're going?" Ivan asked curiously as if people chasing after a murderer were a common affair.

"Looking at them go, probably not. But I do have an idea where they'll end up." He replied, walking briskly to his own carriage. Ivan followed like a child. "So where?" he smiled as he entered Yao's carriage. "You're not coming with me. I don't need past acquaintances to mess up what I've worked hard to earn aru."

"By hard work you mean, erasing all who knew about you who weren't your allies and burning information and evidence behind their backs." Ivan smirked.

"Not everyone, not everything aru."

"Da, because I'm still here."

"Unfortunately." Yao sighed, the carriage was already heading off, there was no point in getting rid of the unwanted visitor, he knew Ivan's determined and clingy personality and he knew he wouldn't be able to be rid of the person, because once Ivan had a goal, he wouldn't give up. He knew that from past experiences.

Alfred swallowed, he had lost the murderer already, looking around desperately he saw the shadow of something against the top of a distant carriage. It was only just darker than the night sky.

"Hey!" Running up to another carriage, Alfred shoved over the man holding the reins, "Hurry up! Get in!" he called to Arthur and Francis who were just getting out of the chaos, too into the chase to wait long, cracking the whip only just as Arthur scrambled in. "Hey! You bloody idiot!"

The murderer watched, swearing as he saw the American catching up, flipping over in the wind, he hung onto the ledge of the carriage roof, wind whipping his hair backwards. Easily balancing on the thin ledge, he kicked out the unfortunate person, his feet colliding squarely on the side of the upper arms, throwing the victim off the carriage. Catching the reins, he cracked the whip, increasing the speed of the carriage immensely, the air whistling with the rush of hoof beats on the roads. He looked back only to see the other carriage moving even faster and the look on the person who was chasing him was seriously scaring him. He tilted his head, thinking he had heard something. All of a sudden a bullet screamed past him, the silver visible in his eyes. Shit. He ducked as a few more came close to head, glancing back he now saw the figure of the person shooting him from the window, his aim was pretty good considering that they were both in moving carriages.

Arthur's head hit the edge of the window as the carriage bumped precariously, "Alfred be a bit careful! It's hard to shoot with your terrible driving!"

"Sorry! But I can't help it!" He shouted back, cracking the whip again.

"Francis how many bullets do I have left!?"

"Enoug-!Ahhh." He screamed as they rounded a corner sharply, head colliding with the wood.

The two carriages shrieked in the street, cries of outraged people oblivious to the two parties in the carriages, the wheels screeching as they rounded corners in ways that they really shouldn't have. The black night scouring the conflict, the glints of wheels and the resounding snap of the whip echoed. The crumbling of the two carriages rustling into the busy London life, ignored as they passed through slums, people sulkily looking up to the blurs that blew in front of them, then going back to their misery as though a chase wouldn't affront to anything.

"Alfred! See if you can drive next to it!"

"Kay!" Alfred twisted the reins hardly.

Arthur looked through the window, watching the American increase speed, the black coat of the horses glistening with sweat, witnessing the eventual approach to the runaway. Hauling open the window Arthur held the gun sternly in his hand, aiming. But as quickly as it happened, the two carriages collided, the assassin jumping off in time to save his skin as the carriage smashed into the hovering buildings, shattering the familiar pattern of the horses, their neighing ignored in the escape. Francis yelped as they're carriage shuttered sideways, crashing into the walls.

Arthur rubbed his aching head. "Hurry up! He's escaping!" Alfred shouted, saved by sheer luck from the crash.

Arthur glanced at the escaping figure, suddenly the thought hit him, "I know where he's going, follow me. We can get there fast enough on foot."

Francis rubbed his head, he was never going to follow these two on a case ever again, it kept messing up his hair.

Arthur saw the moon. It has to be there, or else we'll have lost him. He sprinted through the dark, letting only his instincts lead him to the place. There was no other way, if his supposed theory was correct then this was the truth he needed to support his theory of the Underworld Organization. Then he could finally track them down before they ruled the world altogether. Praying desperately, Arthur reached the corner, the view letting on a bridge, crossing the two sides of the River Thames. And there Arthur knew he was right and just in time.

"Alfred, you wait over there, Francis keep an eye behind there. We arrived just in time." Arthur ordered, a new resolution in his voice.

He finally arrived, it was a last minute idea but, for good reason they had created a backup, now he could leave the country and hopefully never return. The jobs here were too hard, there was too much planning involved. He'd just rather shoot straight and get home with some money, but the head and the relations between the two…it was too complicated and there was too much deception. Working between the two corporations was hard enough but when they had to get tangled, it was even worse. And why couldn't the target just die? Luckily no one was at the bridge; he could meet his contact and get back home to Poland. Running across the roofs, his feet hit the shingles lightly. He would kill then disappear, it was annoying since he came for only one murder but still, he did hear a little of the main plans so he did have an idea what was going on. Jumping off the building he caught himself on a ledge, breaking the fall and landing effortlessly, strutting to the middle of the bridge from the shadowy alleys.

"He better be here soon, I don't know how long I can stand in this outfit." He sighed.

Click.

The sound came from behind him, there was the American, gun poised in his hands.

"_Gowno_." Shit.

"You're under arrest for murders of the case of The Repent."

Murders? But I was only hired to kill one person, damn people. He was so confused, but the contact was waiting. Suddenly he realised, there were more people, behind the corner and the other one watching him, that one looked familiar; he didn't stand out at the party but his hands and the way his green eyes calculated struck something in him. This is the one they're after. He backed up against the railing of the bridge. "You're way too late now."

"Incorrect." Arthur moved forward, appearing in the dim light, his eyes scanning for what would prove him right.

"I didn't know this was your mission, Feliks." A new voice approached the semi – circle, "Next time you have a mission like this, you should tell me, da."

Oh no! He knew that voice.

"Ivan!" Alfred shouted surprised, "What are you doing here?!"

"I was interested in what you would do aru." Yao walked up, "But now we have all the pieces, am I correct, Arthur?"

Francis smiled, "Yao, what a cunning person you are. You ask Arthur to do all the work yet you insist on watching on the proceedings. What exactly are you up to?"

"I needed to clear up some doubts aru."

Here he was, surrounded completely by enemies from all sides of the field. He better be paid well for this. But he wasn't completely surrounded and he knew what he had to do, feeling the edge of the bridge.

Arthur saw a flash of something, rustling in the pockets of the assassin. That was it, that was the proof he needed and he had to get it. "You do know he's going to jump."

Feliks froze. what was that man after?

Arthur walked up, pushing him from the ledge making sure that there was a gap. "We don't want you jumping."

"Da, yet."

"I like won't be any use to you; you won't my find fingerprints on any of the bodies." Feliks said proudly, "But we have witnesses and evidence." Alfred stated.

"The wrong sort of evidence for catching me though," he replied smartly.

"It'll be enough." Alfred locked the handcuffs he had placed on Feliks.

Resounding in the silence, everyone heard the shouts approaching, the loud noises of people reverberating through the streets.

"Hey Arthur, did you call the police?"

"No, but I did expect that they would come." Arthur said simply.

Yao walked away, into the alleys. It would not look good if they found him near the killer if he was fighting that he had nothing to do with the crime. Ivan didn't really look good near any crime scene.

"I'm like totally not sorry for taking your time, but I like so have to leave now."

Alfred realised what he was going to do, "Wait!" the police had just arrived. The Polish assassin jumped at the edge, falling backwards with his hands still cuffed, colliding into the water disappearing into the murky darkness. The bridge was ten metres off the ground.

Yao sighed, he saw the shadow on the rooftops; that was the true murderer. Of course he had hidden him. Even if he had managed to accuse that person, they would've escaped; the organisation that Arthur was so sure about, it existed and they had connections. The murderer would have lived and Yao himself might have died for the accusation, but now; now he could finally fight. He suspected that a certain person would leave the company tonight but he was sure they would meet again, after all, with the situation that they're in now, when would they not meet again?

Arthur sighed, they wouldn't be able to catch the attempted killer but he only gave in for a single piece of information, and that piece of information was now in his pockets. It wasn't much but it would change everything.

"Did you get it?" Francis whispered, glancing at the Englishman's pockets.

"HEY! So what do we do now?!" Alfred's question died when he saw the piece of paper that Arthur was holding. On it was a single coat of arms, detailed and printed in black ink. _L'asse Girevole._

"Well, I do think we have another case." Among other things.

Chapter Fin


End file.
